Here We Go Again
by stephmcx
Summary: "Here we go again," the Camaro thinks... He has a lot of stories to tell, like a fly on the wall.


Written for a tumblr prompt that read "_Fic idea: written in the point of view of the camaro._"

* * *

"_Here we go again_," the Camaro thinks as the little girl climbs into his backseat with a huge bag of popcorn in her hands—again.

He's been parked in the cinema's parking garage for the third time already, every other saturday night if he's not mistaken. There will be popcorn crumbs all over his shiny new interior, everything will be sticky and while he's mostly treated okay by the blond dude, who is apparently the father of popcorn girl, he would prefer a more regular cleaning schedule, thank you very much.

Okay, he's been with the blond guy for a little less than two month, but it looks like this could become a more permanent thing. He just needs the blond dude be aware of the fact that he's not some douche family car, he's a fucking sports car! He wants to be treated like one, he's worth every one of his 400 horsepowers.

—

"_Here we go again_," the Camaro thinks, enthusiastically, as Steve hits the gas pedal and floors it. By now, he has learned their names—looks like he'll be stuck with these guys, not that he minds one bit. He knows Danny is proud of him. He knows Steve is really fond of him, with the way he always fights with Danny for his keys. Steve is also very fond of Danny, not that he would ever admit it. Or that Danny would listen, for that matter.

Steve shifts up a gear and the Camaro lets his engine roar loudly. It's not that Danny is a bad driver, far from it. It's not that Danny doesn't challenge him, he does, but sometimes, like right now, Steve's mad driving skills are exactly what he needs. Damn, it feels good to release the power under his hood, to speed freely and give it everything he's got.

—

"_Here we go again_," the Camaro thinks as Steve swerves them hard to the left, trying to avoid the hailstorm of bullets that are flying their way. He loves car chases, he's a hothead like that, but being shot at? Not so much.

Steve yanks at the steering wheel again, hard, because there are suddenly two vans in front of them, and there are four guys with guns, shooting at them and—fuck! He takes one bullet to the fender, a second one hits his windshield, and the third bullet grazes Steve's arm. Steve yelps in a mix of surprise and pain and anger, but the split-second he's distracted from driving is enough to bring them on a collision course with the curb at full speed.

The crash is brutal, all the more worse because he sees it coming and it's inevitable. There's the godawful, never-ending screech of metal on concrete, the airbags eject at the same moment his front axis snaps and a second later his right front wheel is completely gone. They slide a couple of more feet along the sidewalk, half on it, his rear still on the street until they hit a lamp post on his left which stops their momentum.

For a moment, there's an eerie silence hanging over them, but then Danny is the first one to regain his senses, and over his daze he can hear Danny's frantic voice, calling for Steve. But before he can find out what happened with Steve, his engine cuts out abruptly and unconsciousness claims him.

A few days later, Danny and Steve pick him up from the shop, he's as good as new, but still pretty shaken. Just like his two drivers, who are looking worse for wear, with a huge gash on Danny's forehead and Steve's arm in a sling. Which means Steve won't be driving for a while, and as much as it goes against his nature, and as much as he hates to admit it—he is quite okay with that for the time being.

—

"_Here we go again_," the Camaro thinks as the huge yellow dog jumps onto the passenger seat. Really, he's gotten used to the kids, there are two of them now, and he's used to being parked for hours in the blazing sun at the zoo or at the beach or the Little League baseball park. He's used to cookie crumbs and chocolate stains and toys getting lost underneath his seats.

(He's also gotten used to driving around with grenades in his trunk, but that's beside the point right now.)

After all these years he's come to grudgingly accept that he's a family car just as much as he is a sports car—but a dog? He envisions his immediate future, where dog hairs all over his seats are the lesser evil and accidents including dog pee or dog poop or dog barf are the worst case scenario. He's not amused.

—

"_Here we go again_," the Camaro thinks as Steve gets in, slams the door hard and starts the engine before Danny even gets seated.

So they're arguing again and he's pretty sure he will find out the reason for it soon enough, if he wants to or not. Because they're fucking always arguing. Or bantering. Or discussing. Or talking. They both won't ever shut up.

Only today, they do.

Steve drives, seething silently, while Danny stares out the passenger side window with an air of heavy annoyance. He hadn't known that time can pass so slowly. They've been driving for probably 15 minutes, when Steve pulls over at the side of the road and cuts the engine. This can't be their destination, there's nothing around for miles, and Danny turns in his seat, confusion on his face, about to start the argument he's been waiting for.

"Okay, you wanna know why?" Steve asks before Danny can utter a word of complaint.

"Yes, Steven, I wanna—" Danny says, but he gets interrupted by Steve leaning over, cupping Danny's face with his hands and pressing a kiss on Danny's lips. After a moment of shocked surprise on all sides, Danny grabs Steve's shirt and pulls him as close as the center console allows, leaning into the touch and into the kiss as much as he can, kissing Steve back with all he got.

"_Finally!_" the Camaro thinks, pleased and happy, after the initial surprise has worn off. "_What the hell took them so long?_"


End file.
